


His Sweetest Words

by gameofoneshots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Kingslanding AU, SanSan Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gameofoneshots/pseuds/gameofoneshots
Summary: Sandor visits Sansa's chamber after he has heard that Stannis is coming...
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	His Sweetest Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadJJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadJJ/gifts).



> This is my Sansan Secret Santa gift for Mad-j-j!

The blazing sun was burning her alive. Nothing here was like it had been in Winterfell, nothing here felt like home. Everyone she loved was either dead or so very far away. She had no friends in this city, not a single one. 

Sansa was sitting by a windowsill. It did little to lighten her mood. She had not been truly happy since Joffrey had taken her father’s head. Starks didn’t fare well South. That was what the Northmen had said, what everyone had said the last time she had laid eyes upon her home. Winterfell was a thousand lifetimes away, and she was a lone wolf wilting away in the heat of the capital. 

Behind the sandstone of the red keep, water glistened and twinkled like sapphires. If only she could board a ship, if only she could be a little bird and fly away. 

She heard the footsteps before she saw the shadow flicker across the wall. Perhaps it was one of Joffrey’s guards coming to fetch her just so he could humiliate her again. Though she wondered if there was anything he could do to her that would humiliate her. He had done so much damage already. Then again, Joffrey had never been anything but creative in his wicked and cruel ways. He would find something that would finally destroy her. She was sure of it. 

She hoped it was the Hound. Anyone but Ser Meryn. Anyone but him. He took the most pleasure in serving his King.

The sound of metal scraping over metal stopped. She could sense someone lingering by the door. Lingering, but not stepping in. Almost courteous.

“Has the Queen sent you”, she spoke into the still air. It was the Hound. Only he possessed such courtesy. 

“The Queen doesn’t know I’m here”, he rasped. It reminded her of the times she had been afraid of him. She had preferred the smooth silk of Joffrey’s voice rather than his rough steel. That had been a lifetime ago. 

“Joffrey then.” Her voice trembled at that. She had overheard chatter that he was losing the war against her brother. 

“Has he sent you to beat me?” 

“Have I ever laid a hand on you, little bird?” She turned her head towards the door slowly, ever so slowly as to not disturb the air around her. The Hound’s head was red. He was breathing deeply, and his scar looked more inflamed that it ever had. He was angry, she realised. At her. 

“No”, she said, “I apologise if I have offended you, Ser.”

“Spare me your courtesies.” Something moved him to close the door behind him. His hands were trembling just like hers. 

Sansa was not sure if she should make polite conversation. The Hound would only tell her to be quiet. He did not like unnecessary words and spoken sentences that meant nothing. It had hurt her at first, but it was liberating. No false niceties, though her niceties, her politeness and her understanding had never been merely courtesy that several septas had taught her to say like they were their prayers. 

To the court, to Joffrey and Cersei and Lord Baelish and all the others, even her own handmaids, her courtesy was her armour. Impenetrable and cold. She did not need to shield herself form the Hound. No armour and no silly words meant for girls in songs and maiden fairs in stories. 

So, she did nothing but sit and watch the knight in her chambers tremble at the door. 

“No little songs for me,” he asked with a cruel but sad smile. A meaningless jape, she knew. His voice told her just how afraid he was. Of what, she didn’t know. Her, himself or perhaps this room.

“Stannis is coming”, he said. “What will you do then, little bird? Spread your wing and fly away?”

She said nothing. What was there to say? It didn’t matter who won. Joffrey or Stannis. She would only be trading captors, but not cages. 

Perhaps that’s why he had come here, to her chamber, to her. He was afraid. 

“What are you going to do when Stannis comes”, he said again and in no time did he cross the room. He was standing in front of her, tall, trembling and a soft glow around his head. She had to crane her neck just to be able to see his face. Oh, his face. A million years ago, it had scared her. But he was no monster. Everyone else was. 

“What will you do when Stannis’s men come barging through that door?” There was pain in his eyes. And suddenly it was too much, she had to look away. 

Emotion had always come to her easily, but right now it was the only thing she did not want. Emotions came knocking against her heart, against her veins and begging her eyes to cry. 

“Look at me”, he said. But she did not. Sansa knew she would cry if she did. There was no shame in crying. Tears had spilled from her eyes before, and they would surely do so again. She had left puddles on the streets of Kingslanding when her father had been murdered, when she had been left behind to die, and only he had come looking for her. She had left wet stains on the collars of pretty dresses and his white cloak of saving grace. 

She had cried in front of him before. But, this time, it was different. The moment he had closed the door behind him with shivering hands and a broken voice, she knew that something had shifted. It was not the Hound who stood in front of her. It was Sandor Clegane, a brave knight, a strong warrior and a gentle man.

It was also Sandor Clegane who kneeled down in front of her and took her hand in his so cearfully as if she were made out of porcelian. 

“Little Bird, please, look at me.” She had never heard him ask for anything so kindly. She was used to his barks and his bared teeth. 

So, she did. She turned her head to face him. Within the second she looked at him, she felt her last tight grasp on her self-restraint snap. There were tears starting to rim at her eyes. Any second they would spill and stain another pretty dress. 

“I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’ll kill them”, he rasped, but his voice of steel was soft. 

“Why”, was all she could say. Why was she crying? Why was he here in the first place? Why her? Why now? Why him? Why? Why? Why? 

There were only so many words and so many things she knew, but not even the gods old or new could answer what moved him to smile. 

He only answered with three words. Three of the sweetest words he had ever said.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this little piece. I tried to include all your favourite elements. It was fun being your Santa two years in a row. Lots of Love your Santa <3


End file.
